Life lesson

Before he knew it, Alan was on the floor and unarmed. Peter's bodyguards had subdued him. The streamer asked the titular character:

"What exactly is a Knife Edge Death Match?"

Alan tried to break the bodyguards' grip, but it was in vain. He explained:

"It consists of a fight to the death within the limits marked by two knives. Knives are placed on the ground. If a participant were to take a step back, he would be cut in the ankle. The only viable tactic to win is to pummel your opponent until he dies."

Peter paced around the hallway in the supermarket. After that, he said:

"Well, that's not very nice of you, Alan. Is it a habit of yours to ask people for mortal combat?"

"It's not. I just despise you specifically."

"Sheesh. I'm glad you place so much stock in me. I wish I could say the same about you."

"It's not a compliment!"

Peter pondered about a middle ground between ignoring Alan and giving him the fight he wanted. He arrived at a good solution.

"I'm afraid I can't accept your proposition."

"Are you chickening out?"

"No, I'm not. I don't want to kill you. I don't want to kill anybody."

Peter showed his index finger.

"Since you're so eager to engage in an altercation, I suppose we could have a friendly bout. No hits below the belt. No killing intent. Just me and you, and the one who gets knocked on his butt loses. What do you say?"

"Make it best of three and we're golden."

"Deal. Come on, dudes. Let him get up."

Peter's subordinates stopped restraining Alan. He gave them the stink eye. One of the bodyguards made a vow to him.

"These knives are yours. I'll give them back after you lose to boss."

The software developer and the entertainer got into position. The auburn haired man thought: "Peter is in a boxing stance. I don't have to worry about a thing. Years of training and tournaments don't go away because I slacked off for a few months."

The streamer went on the offensive and threw a punch. Alan evaded it and responded in kind with a high kick. Peter was struck by the attack and he fell to the floor. The green eyed dude engaged in cognition: "Dodging his advance was a miracle. He's good. Albeit I'm better."

The creative expressed himself while getting up:

"0-1 is not how I saw it going. I can confirm you're not all talk."

He put the palm of his hands on his butt and continued his monologue.

"Wanna try that trick again?"

Alan replied:

"No, I don't think I will."

The second round started. The titular character approached his opponent this time around. He got shoulder checked to the floor.

The final round saw the pugilist and the protagonist meet halfway. Alan threw a flurry of punches, but they were all parried by Mr. Hines. Desperate, Alan pivoted around his opponent, looking for an undefended spot. He didn't find one. Frustration got the better of him, so Peter locked in and formed a fist. His punch connected. Unfortunately, Alan had his back to a shelf. The packs of condoms fell off as the fighter collided with the shelf. Peter cracked his knuckles as he approached him menacingly.

"Gentlemen, we have a strict pacifism policy in this establishment. If you continue disturbing the peace, you may be banned for life."

The nasal voice of a manager spoke these words. Peter responded as if talking to the aether, not even bothering to make eye contact with the busybody:

"So what? I only come here once a year for a shopping stream. I'm winning the fight then leaving."

Alan put his hands out and showed his palms to the manager.

"No, no, no. Wait, wait, wait. This is the supermarket that is closest to my house. You can't do this to me!"

Peter gloated:

"OK, the fight has ended. It was interrupted, but the wonderful people in chat know in their heart of hearts that I won."

Alan was seething. He couldn't refute the host of the stream. Had the shelf not been there, he would have certainly lost balance from the punch. Peter talked more and approached Alan's basket:

"You may now buy your butter, your chocolate, your chewing gum, your other brand of chocolate, your frozen pizza and yet more chocolate. Enjoy."

Peter went to push his cart and left the scene. The bodyguard that spoke to Alan earlier kept his promise. After Alan put the knives in his pocket, the employee rejoined his boss' entourage. The manager heaved a sigh of relief that the altercation was over. The software developer asked the manager:

"Where is the white bread?"

Alan drove to the side of the road. He left his vehicle. He held a hand to his mouth so as to hold back his bodily process. He knelt down and the contents of his stomach hit the asphalt. His inner monologue was unforgiving: "I had the chance to square up against Peter and I lost while he was streaming it live. I can never live this down."

Alan checked out his knife. A demonic idea crossed his mind. "If I cut my wrists, all my suffering will end. So why... why am I hesitating? Today I lost the little dignity I still had." His cheeks were wetted by his lament. Snot came out of his nose. He laid on the road in fetal position as he wept. After five minutes of crying, he found the resolve to move forward. He stood straight and entered his ride.

He would have overslept if he hadn't called in sick. It was nine and five AM when he woke up. He spent an additional five minutes staring at the ceiling, his mind still numb from the rollercoaster of emotions he felt the previous day. "At least I can have breakfast today. That's gotta count for something, right?"

He turned on his phone as he was having coffee and he instantly regretted it. "It's just going to be strangers mentioning me and mocking me for losing the fight." He was correct. Tons of Internet funny men pinged him. Against his better judgment, Alan watched the clip of the stream. "Oh God. It's even worse in third person." A terrifying prospect crossed the software developer's psyche. He opened the dating app he was using and confirmed his theory. "Zero matches. Nobody wants anything to do with an inept fighter."

As he munched on some chocolate, Alan thought:"Forgive me, Kenshiro. I sullied your outfit with the mud stain of defeat." He got up and went to the restroom. He opened a cupboard, observed its contents for a while and closed it. The software developer used his noggin: "Right, my sleeping pills aren't here. I left them in the garage."

That was his reasoning behind his next action. Once there, he acquired the sleeping pills. Alan took in his surroundings for a minute. He possessed a foldable table, a ring light, a tray of surgical tools, power tools and a personal vehicle. The ginger's inner monologue stated: "I must be more proactive. My show goes live in two days and I still lack a guest star."

Alan returned to the bathroom and placed the sleeping pills in the cupboard. He then acquired a new resolve: "I still have my side gig to look forward to. This next episode of "Silly ahh Jack" must be an eight out of ten or better." His creative project gave him the motivation to go look for a partner in his dating app.

Even the men were clowning on him. The majority of his matches messaged him with something to the effects of "this you?" and a link to his fight against Peter. Alan was shell-shocked by the constant reminders of his weakness. But he found the one individual who liked him. His name was Frank. His profile picture had him in a neoprene suit with a bodyboard table.

Frank had taken the initiative by messaging first.

"Howdy! You're really cute. Wanna smash?"

Alan thought about how he wanted to frame the sexual encounter, then replied:

"Yaya! I'm free this Sunday evening, is that OK with you?"

Frank was eager, as his response came very fast.

"Alright! Where do we meet?"

The software developer had to be bold since he wanted the next episode of "Silly ahh Jack" to be a success. He gave him the address to his land. Frank replied:

"That's in the middle of nowhere."

Alan sweated bullets. He had to come up with an excuse for why he wanted Frank to go there. He settled on a witty reason:

"I'm still closeted. I can't take you to my current home."

The green eyed man awaited for a reply from his interlocutor for what it felt like an eternity. It finally came.

"Sorry for the delay, I had to feed my dog. I understand your fears, but you should come out. Anyway, enough preachiness. I'll meet you."

Alan closed the app, absolutely filled with joy. He held his smartphone to his chest and smiled. His imagination was struck by a color palette. "In the azure sea, I found the words "Wanna smash?" whereas the red of iron filled rocks spelled "I'll meet you." Come this Sunday, my memories, which consist of a pitch black abyss, will be temporarily gray, as I make him moan and scream tender white words such as "Stop" and "For God's sake." As our futures intertwine, I will record the whole interaction with an aquamarine hue so as to make the pivotal scene of "Silly ahh Jack" all the more cinematic."